Against a Ghost
by Arisprite
Summary: When Lestrade brings news of the discovery of Moriarty's body, Holmes must deal with the repercussions. Inspired by KCS's sentence #30, Rated K , No Slash, Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello all! This is a little something I've been dragging along, inspired by one of KCS's sentences :) It'll be three or four parts, and it's mostly done. Reviews inspire me! *grins*

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#30 – Ghost

After Lestrade came by one evening in '94, bringing Continental news of finally locating the remains of Professor James Moriarty, Watson did not bother to change into his night-clothes but waited sadly for the sounds below of an unconscious struggle against a ghost

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Holmes and I were just finishing our supper when Mrs. Hudson showed Inspector Lestrade in. He was evidently just getting off his shift, and was clutching a Continental newspaper in his hand. He removed his bowler, and we invited him to sit.

"Well gentlemen, " He said with a smile. "They've finally found him."

Holmes looked as puzzled as I. Lestrade answered by thrusting the paper under Holmes' nose, grinning.

Holmes peered at the indicated article, then the blood drained from his face, though his expression didn't change, except perhaps a fleeting shock, like the kind at seeing an unexpected spider in the cup you were about to sip from.

He lay down the paper, and sat back with a slight sigh.

"Holmes?" I questioned, concerned. Lestrade's glee was fading at Holmes' reaction to his news. "What is the matter?"

Holmes looked at me, giving me a quick reassuring smile.

"It's a Swiss paper. Apparently a fisherman found a skeleton downstream from the Richenbach Falls."

Holmes grabbed the paper to dictate the details.

"This fisherman's anchor caught on something. Upon pulling it up, he found it entangled with a full set of human bones. All identification has pointed to one who was reported to have fallen from the Falls three years ago."

Holmes met my gaze.

"They found Moriarty's body."

*~*~*~

Lestrade left us to our food, but I could tell Holmes was distracted by this unanticipated news. He pushed the roasted potatoes around on his plate until I was finished, then he lit his pipe in silence.

"Holmes—" I started to speak, but he abruptly stood and strode into his bedroom, not quite slamming the door behind him. I winced at the sound, and then sighed.

I spent a quiet evening alone, worried over my friend behind the door, but too knowledgeable about his firm pride. He would not welcome my interference this evening. Therefore, I occupied myself until it was late enough that I could retire to my room.

I was, however, wide-awake. I was anxious about Holmes. There must be emotional repercussions from the news, and if Holmes would not acknowledge them while awake, then they would manifest unconsciously. I decided to sit up. Heaven knows he had helped me (in his way) through enough nighttime demons. The least I could do is to be ready for such an occurrence from him.

I threw my dressing gown over my clothes, and made my way carefully down the stairs. I built up the fire again, and sat in my chair with some old case notes on my lap, using the light of the fire, to avoid disturbing Holmes with a bright light. However, if he were, as I suspected, still awake, he would know that I was out here, regardless.

It was around one in the morning, when I heard the first sounds of distress. Moans and grunts drowned out the creaking of the bedsprings. I stood, prepared to wake Holmes at this first sign of a nightmare, and then perhaps get him to talk a bit about that day on the Falls. He had never done so, to my knowledge, and days like these were evidence that the memories were still eating at him.

I crossed to the door, and turned the handle.

It was locked.

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A/N: Like I said, let me know how much you want the rest. :) And, don't worry, I won't forget about The Counterfeit! R&R!! :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry this is SO very short! It just had to end there, if I wanted to get it up tonight :) Part 2, and I will try to get the rest up soon.

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I stood stock still for a moment, feelings of hurt washing over me. Holmes had only rarely locked this door, and never to purposely keep me out. I realized that Holmes had probably suspected what the results from this afternoon's news would be, and had shut me out deliberately, because of shame, or guilt…

My eyes flew to the top desk drawer. It was closed, and to all appearances undisturbed, but that meant nothing where Holmes was involved. He may have, knowing my disapproval, snuck out to get the drug while I was upstairs, in an attempt to block out painful memories without my knowledge. But, no. Opening the drawer, I found the cocaine, and syringes in place.

I tried the door again, then went to the landing door. Locked as well. I considered. Holmes obviously did not want me to witness his nightmares; he would not thank me for breaking in. However, I could hear him thrashing around in there, getting more and more upset.

I went back into the sitting room, my eyes roaming the area, searching for inspiration. If only I could play the violin, or even sing passably. That was often how Holmes would calm me. Many a night I had dropped off as the sweet notes of the Stradivarius drifted up through the floorboards. That was not my skill, I could not comfort from that distant standpoint. Thus being shut outside, while Holmes suffered alone grated on all my sensibilities.

I debated, but decided that all I could do was wait; either until morning, or Holmes woke and unlocked the door. A moment later, I was driven to my feet as the sounds from the bedroom increased. A muffled cry was cut off, and followed by the sounds of retching.

I crossed to the door, and knocked lightly, not wanting to startle him.

"Holmes?"

There was silence save for my friend's heaving breaths. I knocked harder, and called out again.

"Holmes, let me in." I prayed he would. "Please?"

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TBC *grin*


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Here is part 3! Enjoy!

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I could hear no movement from behind the door. I pictured him frozen, hoping that I would go away when I heard nothing. He should know I would not leave him alone so easily. I knocked again.

"Holmes, open the door!" I called a little louder, mindful of Mrs. Hudson. Finally, there was a rush of movement, and the door was yanked open.

"What?!" Holmes snapped. He stood before me, his damp hair sticking to a pale face livid with anger, and embarrassment.

"Holmes, are you alright?" I asked, though it was obvious he was not. "I heard—"

"I am perfectly well, Doctor!" He said stridently, and made to shut the door. I stepped closer, stopping the door's swing with my foot.

"I beg to differ." He took a moment to breathe through clenched teeth, and I felt my concern increase. Never had I seen him have to put so much effort into staying in control. The nightmares must have been worse than I thought.

"You can differ all you like." He said, in a calmer voice. "I am, however, fine." He again pulled on the door. His face darkened when I refused to remove my foot, and he growled. "Watson, move your foot."

"I will not. You are not well."

"Whether I am or not, it's no business of yours!"

"Isn't it?" My frown deepened. "And who has patched you up through countless injuries, seen you through illness and depression?"

"Watson, just leave me be!" He ripped open the door, since I still wouldn't let him close it, stalking across the room to his tobacco stash. I turned and followed him, standing in front of him, my arms akimbo.

"Holmes, as your Doctor, and as your friend, I cannot allow you to—"

"To what, pray tell? Keep things private from you? Decide how to manage my own thoughts? He clutched his hand around his unlit pipe, glaring at me.

"Holmes you and I both know that the whole Moriarty affair was a terrible time for the both of us. It is bound to come up in our dreams; we've never even discussed much of it. It has no other outlet." I still had a calm voice, but I was getting angry.

"The Moriarty Affair? Did you come up with that ridiculously romantic title yourself?"

"I haven't even written up that case Holmes!" I said heatedly.

"It doesn't matter. It will be the same as all the rest, a gross misrepresentation of my methods, and character. You will create yet another children's adventure story out of my scientific processes."

My temper flared.

"My writing is the cause of the majority of your business! How many cases were you getting at Montague Street?" I realized we were heading off onto a tangent. "And we were discussing your nightmares!"

"_You_ were discussing," Holmes hissed. "Besides which, there are none to discuss, since I'm not having any!"

"And the sounds I heard were the pleasant dreams of happy man were they?"

"You were listening." It wasn't a question.

"I—" I couldn't deny it.

"Of _course_ you would wait outside my door, ready to burst in and save me from myself." His voice took on a mocking, cloying tone. "Heroic Watson ready to aid the needy and pathetic souls who cannot deal with life on their own. Especially his so-called best friend. The depressed, drug addict Holmes." His eyes narrowed, and his voice became hard and brittle. "I have no need of your assistance."

"Then why are you still shaking?" I was nearly shouting now, anger coursing through me.

"You, sir, have no right to pry into my affairs!"

I breathed heavily for a moment, and he did the same.

"No," I finally said, anger, bitterness, and remorse all battling for dominance. "No, I don't have a right. I suppose I thought that as your friend, I had that privilege." I turned from his, glancing back. "It appears I was mistaken. "

With that, I left Holmes in the sitting room, with his white hand still wrapping tightly around his cherry wood pipe.

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A/N: Phew! That was tough to write, I was literally shaking when I finished the final version. Poor guys. Let me know what you thought, if it was too...anything, emotional, angry...etc :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Woo, so many updates! Maybe you'll hold off on the veggies? This one is short though…maybe just baby carrots, that'd be fine :)

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I was shaking with emotion as I stormed into my room. That man! I closed my door with a snap, and turned to my darkened room, pacing up and down. How could he turn and attack me like that. I, who had only _ever_ tried to help him!

I glared downwards, as if my gaze could pierce the floorboards to the sitting room below, where Holmes was undoubtedly filling the room with a miasma of smoke. I was still pacing when I heard a gentle knock on my door.

"Doctor?" It was Mrs. Hudson. We had wakened her. I cursed under my breath, and opened the door.

"Mrs. Hudson." I said softly, my face flushing in embarrassment. "I'm so terribly sorry we woke you!"

She tutted at me, and walked in, bearing a tray of tea things. She was dressed in her dressing gown, with her hair braided for bed.

Without a word, she set the tray on my bedside table, and began preparing a cup, which she then handed to me. She then proceeded to pick up the tray again, and head out, leaving me nonplussed, and alone in my room.

I followed her quietly halfway down the stairs, still clutching the teacup and saucer, and saw her bear the tray into the sitting room. She left a moment later, and went back to the ground floor, presumably to go to bed.

I sighed, and sank down onto the step. My hands were still shaking slightly, and I mindlessly took a sip of the steaming tea, feeling its calming effects.

I remembered with shame my part of the row, how I had lost my temper, and said words that I knew would cut deep. I felt no anger towards Holmes now.

The soft _crick_ of the sitting room door brought my head up to see Sherlock Holmes himself framed within the doorway, a teacup in his hands as well, and looking rather bemused.

He exchanged a wary look at me, mixed with shame. I am sure we mirrored each other rather well. A silence dragged out. I took another sip, and broke it.

"Our landlady seems to think the sure cure for any ill is a cup of tea." I murmured. His face softened in relief, and he quirked a smile at me.

"Indeed." He said, and took a sip himself. I scooted over on the step, and after some hesitation, he took a seat next to me.

We drank for a moment in silence.

Homes then cleared his throat. "It seems we have some talking to do."

I stared into my cup for a moment. "Holmes, I am sor—"

"No, Watson!" Holmes cut me off with a violent wave of his hand. He then checked himself, rubbing his brow. "It is I who must ask you for your forgiveness. It was inexcusable what I said."

"You have it." I laid a tentative hand against his shoulder. "I should not have lost my temper."

"It was understandable…"

"Now, Holmes―"

"It's true. I was horrific to you." Holmes was still staring into his teacup, his elbows on his knees.

"Be that as it may, I am by no means blameless." I stood, and held out a hand to him. "Come. We're crouching here on the cold steps like a couple of truants, when we could be sitting by a warm fire." He took my hand, and I pulled him to his feet.


End file.
